


Nightmares

by MelinyaValerian



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Sand Siblings-centric, with a bit of Temari on the sidelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelinyaValerian/pseuds/MelinyaValerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Shukaku has been extracted, Gaara suffers from nightmares. After a particularly nasty one, he encounters someone he has hoped to never see again; and ends up with Kankurou in the kitchen, engaging in a much-needed night talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kankurou: Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Shukaku's extraction; but before the Pain-invasion in Konoha.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto and the Sandsiblings.  
> If I would, they'd get more screentime.

Sandstorms.  
  
It was always the same: they appeared from one minute to the other, if you were fortunate they only started as comparably small storms, and you would only feel like being roughly treated with a piece of sandpaper. If Lady Luck played the bitch again there would be no warning, no small winds but a fully-fledged tornado from one minute to the other and in the worst case no town, village, or hideout visible. Thankfully, he had never experienced these kind of storms while outside of Suna. Fortunately the storm today had been one of the slower kinds. But nonetheless, no matter what strength the storm had, afterwards there always was the questionable fun of having sand in every wrinkle and fold of your clothing. And no matter for how long he had been living in the desert, he would never get used to that and never be able to predict these fuckin' storms.

Temari could do it, she had a knack for wind and weather in general. But he hadn't, and Temari was surely asleep, safe and sound in her bed, untroubled by the coming storm. It was far after midnight as he himself returned home from his latest mission, slightly cursing at the trail of sand his sandals left in the entrance.

He didn't bother to put on the lights, he knew all the corridors by heart. And hopefully not only Temari was asleep, but Gaara as well. The concept of needing to sleep was new to his brother, and he only adjusted slowly to it. Maybe light was enough to disturb his well-earned sleep, Kankurou wasn't sure of that, so he didn't put it on in the first place. But the lights in the Kazekage's office had been out, so Kankurou deemed that a good sign that Gaara was at least trying to get some rest.  
On his way to his own room he briefly stopped at his brother's door, and listened.  
No sound. Good.  
No sound meant hopefully no nightmares. At first, the nightmares had been terrible, and Gaara had had his problems with them. Not that Gaara talked a lot about his nightmares, he liked to keep them to himself. Kankurou and Temari had tried to worm details out of their brother, but mostly he only delivered a small and vague description, and said he would learn to deal with it. Kankurou had agreed with himself that maybe it was best not to torment his brother with wanting too much details, only to offer over and over again a friendly ear. And as the months after Shukaku's extraction went by, Gaara's dreams became less terrible. He had started on his own to confide more details in his siblings, and by all Kankurou knew he was glad not to have those dreams himself, and sorry for Gaara that he had to live through the worst memories of his life again and again in his dreams. But if Kankurou knew something, than that Gaara was strong. And that, even if he didn't like talking about his dreams, Gaara had learned that he, if the unlikely case occurred that his own strength wasn't enough, could always confide in his siblings for help.

But that knowledge didn't prevent Kankurou from silently looking after his brother every once in a while. Stopping by in his office to make sure Gaara got some rest sometimes. Taking up with the nasty paperwork. Dealing with council elders. Stopping by his brother's door in the mid of the night to make sure he did sleep. He never opened the door, a question of privacy. He only listened for unusual noises. But tonight all was silent. Perfectly fine.

He smiled a bit as he took on walking again towards his own room some doors further down the corridor. The smell of sawdust and oil was familiar, he finally was at home. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was after midnight, and decided it was best he didn't try to figure it out precisely. It would only make him count the hours of sleep he had left until the morning, and he was nearly sure there weren't as many as he would have liked. Not that he was tired, he was used to live with only a couple of hours of sleep, but sometimes he wished to for once not be woken up by that nasty alarm clock at six, but at a more friendly time. Eight would be fine. Or even nine.

But as a shinobi, additionally as the brother of the Kazekage, one didn't have that privileges (there were others, of course, like a housekeeper who came thrice a week or the benefit that nearly nobody talked back to him if he went to get a sake and was – minor technicality – not old enough to drink alcohol at all). But he didn't complain, after all, he had chosen that life for himself. So six it was, no matter how many hours there were left for sleeping.

And so he placed his backpack on the floor next to his workshop and crossed his room towards the small adjacent chamber, throwing his hat and kimono half-heartedly into a corner, leaving another small trail of sand. The chamber once had had no particular use (Kankurou deemed that former inhabitants of the palace had used it as a broom closet or something like that), until he had decided to use it as a storage room for everything he needed to apply and remove his face paint. A small table, pots of purple paint, some in other colours, various brushes, a book about the traditional use of kumadori paint in theatre (he had read it at least three times in his childhood). He even had installed a small mirror in this chamber. Applying the paint was a ritual, and it took its time, removing it wasn't as time-consuming. But it took its time nonetheless, and sometimes he thought of just not removing it for saving that time. When he had been younger, he hadn't removed the paint every night, only restored it in the morning, or even left it smudgy to annoy his father. That had been a time when he had used the paint as a mask, as a way to cover his own self, until he had believed in the image the paint had conveyed, the image of a cunning, cruel show-off. Those times were over now. But he still used the paint, and to make sure it never became a mask again he always removed it in the evening, for council meetings or when spending the rare private time he had with his family. He made no exceptions when it was late at night.

Once his face was clean, he left the chamber, got rid of his shirt and trousers and grabbed fresh clothes. Silently, and again in complete darkness, he left his room for the shower. Every time he entered that room he couldn't help but be thankful that they had enough fresh water to maintain such things as private showers. Bathing was a rarity in the desert, and usually they only did it once a month, but the fresh water supply was good enough to guarantee every person in Suna a shower each day. And even if most people only saw it as a necessity to clean themselves, nothing to enjoy, Kankurou never fully got used to the sensation of water pouring down his skin. It always felt like one of the rare rainy days he had lived to see, and he couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of water, and always lifted his face towards the shower head to have the water trickling down his face. Showers were in a sense the complete opposite of living in a desert – no hot sun, no wind, no high temperatures (at least not for him), no dryness. He never understood why people who were exposed to heat the whole day bothered to warm up the water for the shower. If they wanted heat, they only had to step outside. No, a shower had to be cold and refreshing. And he never turned the tap back to the warm water. He just loved it when his dear sister forgot that he liked the water to be cold, and set out a small high-pitched scream (normally very unlike Temari, but she was a girl, after all) when under the shower. She loved her water to be hot.

But even with all the pleasures that showers surely held for the inhabitants of Suna, they all were more careful than other people to not waste any water. And so showers were always short and effective.

Cleaned and refreshed (and not a bit tired anymore) Kankurou changed into fresh clothes. Now there was only one thing left to do before going to bed and hopefully getting some hours of sleep (even if not tired, sleep was never a bad thing except for maybe Gaara). Finding something to eat. The housekeeper hadn’t been here today, he knew, which meant, either Temari or Gaara had cooked. Hopefully it hadn’t been Temari. If there was something she couldn't do, it was cooking. He didn't get why, he didn't find cooking to be that demanding himself, and even if it wasn't his strong suit, at least what he cooked was edible. Even what Gaara cooked was digestible, what Temari tried to cook was mostly black and not identifiable as food any more. Maybe everyone needed a weakness. Temari's were a love for hot showers and the inability to cook something without burning it. And one of his weaknesses was his occasional laziness. If there wouldn't be something edible in the kitchen, he would consume Gaara's stock of green-tea ice-cream or go for his own stock of what Temari called junk food (he actually didn’t really see the problem with chips, crackers and chocolate). No way would he cook in the middle of the night. Eating healthy stuff only went so far.  
But Lady Luck was on his side again, he didn't even have to put on the lights. The kitchen smelled of fresh fish (another rarity, Lady Luck did really have a good night), and just one look in the fridge told him that Temari had made Nagiri, something even she couldn't ruin (as there was no frying involved, so no chance to burn the food), and by the look of it, it was enough to satisfy his growling stomach for now, just as if Temari had anticipated him back home this night.

With not being too tired, he had the idea to relax in his workshop, with the Nagiri and his newest plans to modify his puppets, only for a small while before going to bed.

But he had hardly closed the fridge when the sudden flash of light roused him from his ideas, and he instinctively narrowed his eyes and turned towards the door.

There they were again. Those eyes. Those cold, ruthless eyes, filled with terror and hatred, telling him that he would be dead in a second if he did anything wrong. How long had he not seen these eyes. How long had he hoped that he would never see them again. His breathing became faster, and his jaw dropped a bit, and the demon inside his own heart began to stir. The demon that had slept for so long, that he had hoped to be dead by now… but there it was again, in fear of those cold eyes and the death thread written in them. It was like a nightmare without sleeping, seeing those eyes again, and feeling again the hatred directed towards him. He felt his hands tremble, and suddenly he was fourteen again, and afraid of his own brother, who stood in the door frame, one hand still at the light switch, and glared at him with his death-stare. He could nearly hear Shukaku growl, hear the swirls of sand reaching out for him...

But Shukaku was … gone. Extracted. He wouldn’t come back, and Gaara wouldn’t have let that happen if he would have been there. And he himself wasn’t fourteen anymore. Kankurou forced his own breathing to become steady again, and fought back the demon of fear in his heart. He had sworn to himself to never fear Gaara again. He had sworn to never again let that demon win. _Try to understand_ , he thought, _something’s wrong…_

And then he understood. Cautiously a bit of relief flooded his heart, the demon of fear held its breath and stayed silent. There was only one way to find out the truth.

“Hey man”, he said and lifted one hand to greet his brother. “I’m back.”

In an instant the hatred in Gaara’s eyes vanished. Instead he looked startled now, a bit shocked, and a bit apologetic. “Kankurou”, he said weakly, “I…”

A small and cautious smile spread over Kankurou’s face, and the relief was now far stronger. The demon of fear was sleeping again, hopefully a never-ending sleep. After all, the old Gaara wasn’t back. It had just been a small, waking nightmare.

He took a deep breath and his posture became more relaxed. Now it was time to deal with someone else’s nightmares. “Little snack?”, he said, and held out the plate with the Nagiri towards Gaara, who still stood a bit forlorn in the door frame.

His brother nodded slowly, and Kankurou seated himself at the worktop, inviting Gaara with a gesture to do the same. It didn’t make any sense to press on Gaara, his experience had shown. Better he waited until Gaara talked himself. Right now his brother made the impression of being startled and tense, and Kankurou hoped he could get to the reason of that somehow. He had an idea, though, a feeling. And this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with rough descriptions.

Slowly Gaara crossed the room and hopped unto the worktop as well, seating himself next to Kankurou. His instincts told him that it would be best to create (or at least try to) an at least semi-relaxed atmosphere, only then he had a chance to ask what exactly was wrong with Gaara. But the question was – what exactly was relaxed right now?

For a moment they sat in silence, Gaara staring at the plate with the Nagiri, while Kankurou helped himself. It was all he could think of at the moment, though is thoughts raced to find something to say or to do.

“I did not know you were back already”, Gaara said finally, his voice calm again, as if to show that everything was okay. Kankurou wasn’t fooled by that, and hadn’t been once in four years. He knew when Gaara was troubled, he was his brother after all.

But for now, he decided to play along.“Since half an hour or so, didn’t want to wake you and Temari up.”

“All went smoothly?” It was typical for Gaara to speak about work first. Work looked like a simple topic to his little brother.

“Nice’n easy. We found that bastard somewhere around the borders, two days ago. Brought him back to prison, and went straight back from there. Were nearly caught in that bloody storm.”

Both brothers looked towards the window, where they could see the sandy winds blowing around the houses. It wasn’t unusual in the desert, so nobody heard the winds growling any more in a regular storm. Except they were outside. Kankurou could nearly feel the sand pattering on his face again and had the suspicion that he would find sand in his clothing tomorrow at places he didn’t find amusing. Damn, he hated sandstorms.

But Gaara loved them. Kankurou never fully understood why. But he never fully understood his brother’s curious, ambivalent love for sand either. It wasn’t the same love for sand that a usual desert-dweller showed. It was something else, and even if Gaara had tried to explain it once, Kankurou was sure that the love-hate Gaara held for the sand would always be only understood by Gaara himself. The sand had been “mother” to him, had been Shukaku as well – something he had to rely on, loved and hated simultaneously – just one mystery about Gaara he would never solve. But that was perfectly fine – Gaara would never fully understand his own love for puppets and kumadori paint either.

Somehow watching the sand storm seemed to have a relaxing effect on Gaara, Kankurou felt that his tension decreased, and heard him breathe deeply.

“I am sorry”, Gaara said suddenly, and his voice was low and a bit regretful. His eyes were still fixed on the storm.

“Forget it, eh?”, Kankurou replied and smiled wryly at his brother. “We all’ve nightmares.”

Gaara’s eyes changed from the sandstorm towards his brother, looking a bit surprised. “How did you…?”

Kankurou chuckled. Sometimes Gaara’s social understanding was miserable. “Wasn’t difficult.” But inwardly he asked himself why he hadn’t noticed it half an hour ago when he had stood in front of Gaara’s door, listening for unusual noises. That method wasn’t fool-proof. Not a bit. He should have realised it earlier, then this all wouldn’t have happened.

“I suppose so”, Gaara said silently, sounding a bit ashamed. He hated it to have those weaknesses in sleep, Kankurou knew that. He hated to be haunted by all those things they had spent years on forgetting, hated it to feel like a vulnerable child again. Of course, for him it was even harder than for other people. But in general, everyone felt weak after a nightmare, and everyone hated that. “Thinking about how I get those every night.”

“Getting any better?”, Kankurou asked, but inwardly thought to know the answer. Of course not.

“Yes”, Gaara answered promptly, sounding a bit as if to convince himself. A short silence followed, and Kankurou didn’t dare to break it by objecting. They both knew Gaara couldn’t fool him as easy as that. “And no”, Gaara added finally, in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. “Not… tonight… at least.”

Sometimes, in moments like these, Gaara looked still incredibly frail to him, like a child more than the Kage of a mighty and proud nation. When his defence melted, when something invisible forced its way into his mind, something Gaara couldn’t fight so easily, when one of his few weaknesses showed that made him only human. A dream couldn’t be chased away by Gaara’s sand. A dream was bodiless, uncrushable, so unlike their usual enemies. It were moments like these in which Kankurou wanted to protect his brother with all his might, be stronger than he actually was, pull an ace out of his sleeve, just to show Gaara that if he couldn’t fight his demons, he could always count on his big brother to chase them away. But Kankurou had his own demons, his own weaknesses, his own fears, and unfortunately no hidden ace. He wasn’t so strong that he always knew what to do. Actually, he never knew. It was guesswork, mostly, listening to his instincts. Instincts weren’t always failsafe. Sometimes they made things even worse. But he guessed he had to risk it this time, risk to listen to his guts. They had, in most cases, not betrayed him.

“Of our old man”, he said finally, his voice low and flat. That was what his instincts had told him all along.

Gaara nodded slowly. “He appears often in those… those dreams.”

Actually, Kankurou would not have needed any more word. He fully understood, he knew that dreams himself. When his father appeared in front of him and yelled terrible things, when he was a child again who only wished to be loved for once for who he was… He didn’t notice that his eyes narrowed again and that he let out a small grunt. Anger and hatred boiled up inside him. If he once got the possibility, he would definitely give his father a nice right hook. He was the most vocal out of Gaara, Temari and himself when it came to expressing how much he despised their father. Even Gaara, who had more reasons to hate him in Kankurou’s opinion, mostly kept quiet about it. Maybe it made Gaara the better man that he didn’t hate their father like Kankurou did, but it couldn’t be helped for him. He just couldn’t forgive that man, couldn’t even find one possible reason why a man who called himself father of three children had managed it to bring up the ruthlessness to seal away a demon inside his own son. How a man who called himself a husband was willing to sacrifice the life of his wife for his own ambition. How a man who called himself a brother had ordered his own brother-in-law to assassinate his own son. How a father could try to kill a child.

In the end, Gaara had survived. In the end, it had been their father who had died, had freed them from his claws with his death. But even in his deserved death that man kept on haunting his children in their dreams, couldn’t just let them be. What a failure of a father.

But his anger was certainly not helpful now, so he tried to swallow it. “I don’t think the old geezer keeps his mouth shut in those nightmares.”

“No”, Gaara replied flatly.

“Wanna talk about it?” As an answer of Gaara remained missing after several seconds, he added: “I could guess, you know. And you’d only have to nod or shake your head.”

Gaara exhaled sharply, what sounded a bit like a suppressed laugh, but remained silent.

Kankurou sighed. “You know, you’re not the only one with those dreams”, he sat gravely, hoping it would help Gaara to understand that he wouldn’t laugh at anything or condemn him for anything that happened in his dreams. He had seen those things all by himself.

“No. I suppose you see him, too. And Temari?”

“’Course we do, man. We both”, his voice lost its sharpness, and his anger cooled down. “I guess… its normal with a father like that.”

Gaara took a deep breathe. He was about to say something, Kankurou thought, and seemed to choose his words with care. “Does he… scream at you?”, he asked gravely and Kankurou nodded slowly. “And tell you… that you are…”

Gaara didn’t seem to be able to end the sentence, but Kankurou’s instincts told him that they had to voice it for once. “A failure”, he ended his brother’s statement flatly. “He yells it at me every time.”

A feeling of understanding filled the air between the brothers, and with it a bit of tension seemed to leave Gaara. “Do you believe him?”, he asked carefully.

Kankurou sighed a bit. He wanted the truth from Gaara, so he had to tell the truth himself. His instincts made it clear that pretending false strength wasn’t really helpful right now. Maybe giving him the feeling that even if he struggled, he wasn’t alone because others stumbled as well would be better. “Not… really. Though it’s hard, you know. Sometimes I do believe him.”

“Well… nightmares are not made to tell the truth, I suppose”, Gaara said thoughtfully, and Kankurou heard a bit of genuine concern in his voice. This indirect approach of encouragement made him chuckle, and made him feel warm inside. He would tell his father the next time when he visited him in his sleep that he gave a shit on his opinion. Gaara’s was worth much more.

“Don’t worry, otouto”, he said then, and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He was very thankful that Gaara didn’t cringe anymore or use his sand shield when he or Temari showed affection in such a way. He had done it in the beginning, and it hadn’t felt all that nice to be rejected those tiny little gestures. But now, Gaara had become used to it. He even hugged his siblings sometimes – even if Kankurou insisted that hugs were for girls, and that hugging Temari was enough. Secretly, he loved hugs as well.

And Gaara, slowly and steadily, became a person that you could not even remotely name a failure. Kankurou deemed that Gaara knew that, at least when there was no dream image haunting him. At those times, Kankurou would remind him of it. “I’ll get along. And I’d bet with anyone you’ll do it, too. No matter what he calls you, you’re no failure.”

“Thank you.” It was the first honest smile that spread over Gaara’s face now that Kankurou had seen tonight, and the warmth in his stomach spread a bit wider.

But then the smile vanished, Gaara took a deep breath and looked straight towards his brother. Kankurou took away his hand and frowned a bit. “I… apologise again for earlier tonight. It should not have happened. And do not say I should forget it.”

“Then I don’t say it. But…”, he searched his mind for words to voice what he wanted to say. It wasn’t as simple, even if he had known that his first guess why Gaara had looked at him that way at first had been right. It wasn’t as if he was good with words, either, the only one who was in their household was probably Temari. “Really… don’t bother. I… know very well how I look. And that people are weak after a nightmare.” It happened to him often enough, when something had disturbed him, when he had had a nightmare and then looked into the mirror. Every time his father stared back, shoving all his failures in his face and laughing at him. _Too emotional, too rebellious, too weak_ , his father sneered. _Fuck you_ , he always replied. He fought that fight often with his own image. Why shouldn’t it happen to Gaara or Temari, when they had been plagued by a nasty dream? Even if he was sorry that things like that happened, even if he hated it that his face alone could revive memories in them that they had all hoped to be dead, what was he supposed to do about it? He couldn’t hide forever behind his face paint, that was what he told himself over and over again when his father stared back from the mirror.

“But I should have learned by now that he is dead”, Gaara replied flatly. “I should not see him anymore when … it is you I look at.”

Kankurou closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Assuming it was one thing, hearing it from Gaara and knowing it another, he realised. Hearing it send icy waves down his spine, and the warmth was gone completely. Maybe, Gaara saw their father much more often than he had thought. Maybe it hurt Gaara deeper than he had feared. Maybe he shouldn’t take off that paint so often. He hated it when something he did hurt his family, even if he wasn’t to blame for how he looked. He had thought that after a while the association would vanish, and that wearing the paint always would only be a narcotic. Something that eased the pain of the memories, of the nightmares, but nothing that cured those pains. His instincts had told him that only accepting it would cure that pain, that it was more difficult maybe to be reminded every day of the man they all could blame for their disastrous childhoods, but that, after enough time had passed, the wounds would heal. Maybe his instincts had fooled him. Maybe it couldn’t be cured, only narcotised. After all, he wanted to protect Gaara at all costs. What he didn’t want was to hurt his little brother even more. And maybe he had done exactly that. If it was for Gaara, than he would put the paint back on full time. If it spared him the waking nightmares.

Slowly he opened his eyes again to find Gaara staring at him. He tried to smile wryly. “Maybe it can’t be helped, huh? Not your fault, otouto. It’s just Lady Luck’s twisted sense of humour, and a freak of genetics”, he knew that his eyes betrayed his casual voice, they always did when he tried to sound more secure than he actually felt. After all, he was as see-through to Gaara as vice-versa.

“Maybe”, Gaara’s voice sounded calm now, not troubled anymore, and a bit concerned. “But you are not responsible for that. It is not my fault, maybe, if my subconsciousness tricks me. But neither is it yours.”

“Really?”, Kankurou said rhetorically, his voice silent now and melancholic. “I could at least… spare you the sight.”

Silence entered the room again, and while now Kankurou stared at the last remaining Nagiri he felt that Gaara examined him.

“Yashamaru once said to me there are wounds that cannot be healed, not even by time”, Gaara said silently, and Kankurou felt startled and looked up to meet his brother’s eyes. They had never spoken much about Yashamaru. It was a sensible topic, very sensible; and if Gaara brought it up, he was indeed serious. And his gaze was firm now, as was his voice. “And father has left such wounds in all of us. Maybe they cannot be healed, maybe we will never get over all what has happened. But those wounds… I do not think they are meant to be sedated. We are not meant to forget about our past, and distort what is left of it. We are meant to accept it. And I appreciate that you try to do so.”

“Even if I look like him?”

“Not even, but because you look like him.”

A small, cautious, but genuine smile formed on Kankurou’s face. Maybe his instincts weren’t so wrong after all. Maybe Gaara knew just fully well why he removed that paint every evening, and maybe there was no more word needed about it. It were moments like these when he was really proud of Gaara, and somehow… proud of himself. Proud of the bond they had rebuilt, and of the men they had become, with all the obstacles to overcome.

But there was one thing left he needed to know. “Honestly Gaara… does it happen often? That you see him… I mean, when you see me?”

“Honestly? No. Only if the nightmare was too strong and I had not expected you to be home, sneaking through the house like a ghost and stealing the remainders of dinner”, Gaara replied dryly and Kankurou started to laugh. He loved his brother’s deadpan humour that always appeared when he didn’t expect it to. The last bits of tension in the room vanished like a nasty smell after a breeze of fresh air. They would make it through somehow, as they always did, even if there were nightmares sometimes. _Fuck you, old geezer_ , he thought with a smirk in his face. It were moments like these he realised that demon was demon, if that demon was called Shukaku or fear, or self-doubt, or father, it didn’t matter. For Gaara, he would fight every demon. And for him, he knew that, Gaara would fight any demon. This was what it meant to have not only a brother, but a friend as well. Something their father had failed to teach them. They had learned themselves.

“Sneaking? And stealing? Thank you, man. Not that I don’t live here as well. Really Gaara…”, he then said and looked at the remaining Nagiri. Suddenly he had noticed that he was still hungry. “You haven’t taken a single one. Make your claim or they’ll be gone for good.”

“I am not hungry, so help yourself. Additionally it is now”, Gaara had a look at his wrist watch, “Five thirty in the morning. There will be breakfast in an hour.”

Kankurou nearly choked on the last Nagiri. “Five thirty?! No way!”

“I am not joking.”

“Oh man. Bye bye sleeping.”

“Sleep is by far overrated, if you ask me.” A bit of Gaara’s voice seemed to be serious and tense again.

“Only because you never had the pleasure of a deep, dreamless sleep”, Kankurou replied, and smiled encouragingly. “You will have someday. Think of it as a present, and you don’t know when you get it. And when you had that, a good, dreamless sleep, or even a nice dream, you’ll love occasional sleeping.”

For a second, both brothers stayed quiet again. “Speaking about sleep and taking the time into consideration, you should maybe take a short nap before breakfast. You still have one hour”, Gaara said finally, and hopped down from the worktop.

Chuckling at his brother’s ability to change topics in an instant back to work, he stood up himself. At a small nod from Gaara the brothers went to leave the kitchen in direction of their private rooms. Kankurou thought that if it was only for one hour, he could skip the sleep as well. “Who needs sleep when there are things like cold showers. I’ll just take the time and clean and check Kuroari. What about you?”

“Paperwork.”

“Oh yeah, sounds like fun.”

“Somebody has to do it. By the way, I will need your mission report in the afternoon.”

“Nah… don’t remind me of that.” If there was one thing he hated more than sandstorms, then it was writing reports.

They stopped at Gaara’s door, and the thought that he had to invent a new method to check if Gaara had nightmares crossed Kankurou’s mind. “Until breakfast, then”, Gaara said seriously.

“Right. Don’t skip it, eh?”

“I promise.”

“’Kay then”, he lifted his hand in a greeting gesture, Gaara nodded and opened the door to his room. “One thing, Gaara. Thanks for the encouragement.”

The suspicion of a smile went over Gaara’s face. “That is what family is for, onii-san.”

 _Onii-san_. For Kankurou, Gaara could hardly have said something more meaningful, more appreciated with thousands of other words.

\---

Two hours later he was in his room again, after having had breakfast with Gaara and Temari. Gaara was back in his office, working. Kankurou had already applied his face paint and was nearly dressed in his fighting attire. Temari sat on the rim of his bed, hearing the story of his mission and his nightly talk with their brother. And suddenly she started laughing like mad.

“Why the hell are you laughing, Temari!”, Kankurou exclaimed, though laughing a bit himself. “It’s not funny at all!”

“I just find the thought amusing of our father sitting in the kitchen on the worktop with Gaara in the middle of the night in a probably half-opened yukata eating Nagiri. It’s ridiculous”, she answered, still giggling.

“Disturbing, more likely”, he shrugged, shaking out the sand in his kimono. “Jeez… sandstorms. Come to think about it, maybe he'd have been a better father if he had been more ridiculous at times, and not all strict and stern and never smiling.”

“A good father should be someone to look up to, I think. Not someone who ignores that worktops aren’t made for sitting, steals food in the middle of the night and accidentally “forgets” to put the tab in the shower back to the hot water to tease unsuspecting inhabitants of this mansion. Those things are reserved for annoying little brothers.”

Kankurou was just about to object that she was annoying herself, but the warm, genuine smile in his sister’s face shut him up for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kankurou's face-paint and his resemblance to his father are kind of favourite topics of mine, and this is definitely not the first (nor the only, and probably also not the last) story I've written about it. I more or less did this because I wanted to know how Gaara reacts to his brother without paint.
> 
> I also really wanted to use the Japanese sibling terminology - to me (as someone with the knowledge of someone who likes animes subbed and spends an aweful lot of time on tvtropes researching) "onii-san" sounds much, much more respectful than "big brother", same with "otouto". If anybody sees this differently, let me know. At that, any comments and critics are welcome :)
> 
> Another disclaimer at the end: I admit to "borrowing" the idea of Gaara fancying green-tea-icecream in another fanfiction, but I sadly forgot which one; I read a lot. Whoever had the idea first, I hope (s)he doesn't mind...
> 
> Next up is a chapter with Gaara's POV on the same "incident".


	2. Gaara: The Bitter Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning beforehand: This is the result of re-writting Chapter 1 from Gaara's perspective, and thus, it features the same overall plot and the same dialogue, only different reactions to it, and Gaara's instead of Kankurou's thoughts.

Darkness.

He didn't mind it, usually. But in the last months, the darkness had become a burden. And tonight even more so. His breath was heavy, and he noticed that he still shivered. Like in a frozen picture, like in slow motion, he felt a cold drop of sweat pouring down his face.

Breathe. Calm down.

It had been a nightmare. Just one of his usual nightmares. Nothing had been real. Nothing to worry about.

He tried to force his breath to be steady, but it wasn't as easy as if it were daytime. In the night, the bad dreams came. In the night, he had to sleep. In the light, at daytime, all was fine.

A look at the clock on his night stand told him it was five in the morning. At least only one hour left until Temari would wake up.

He would never admit it openly, there was something that still hindered him from doing so, but it was the presence of one or both of his siblings that made the nightmares at least bearable. He wasn't willing to share all of those dreams; he didn't want to relive them again, it was enough that he had to see those things every night; but the fact alone that they were there, that they were concerned was what made it bearable. To know he could always count on them.

But it was still night, not day, and in the nights, he chose to be alone. Temari wouldn't probably be angry if he would wake her up, he knew that. Most probably she would be glad he admitted to need someone. But he was the Kazekage, even if he was only sixteen. He would stand it alone, at least during the night.

Slowly he left his bed. The best thing was to take a glass of cold water and then go to his office and work until breakfast. Wait until Temari was awake on her own, and be glad that they shared breakfast, and that there was a family that cared for him.

The corridors were dark and forlorn, too much space to be inhabited by only three people, from which one currently was on a mission and he didn't know when this person would return home. Suddenly he felt a bit odd, wishing that Kankurou would be back already. He wouldn't mind having breakfast with both his siblings. Their smiling faces, or better Temari's smile and Kankurou's smirk, could make every nightmare retreat for the daytime. Though he never seemed to know how to vocalise this to them.

He still was very agitated as he reached the kitchen. It had been one of those dreams that came again and again, one of those that were particularly horrible. When he was a child again, and no kanji was etched on his forehead, when Shukaku had still been there, and he hadn't known what or who Shukaku had been. When the only thing he had wanted was to have a family, people who loved him. He felt small, vulnerable, alone in those dreams. They all were drifting away from him – Temari and Kankurou first, then Naruto, the village, even Matsuri; then Yashamaru, in his dying breath spatting the truth at him that nobody had ever loved him; and then, one man would appear, standing tall and cruel over him, his face hard like stone, his narrowed eyes glaring down at him. Then he would notice that he whimpered, that he wanted the man desperately to say something nice, words that would make the pain go away, words of love; but then a cold voice would say: “You have killed my beloved wife. Because of you, your siblings don't have a mother anymore. Because of you, the village fears the demon again, because you cannot control it. Because of you, Yashamaru killed himself. You are nothing but a failure.” And then he would wake up, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and finding it very hard not to believe in those words. Finding it very hard to look forward, and not backward. That was exactly what had happened tonight.

He had left the light switches on the corridors untouched, relying on his other senses instead of his vision. He was still in thoughts of his dream, still the voice echoed in his mind, still the pictures of his family and friends drifted away from him. He tried to calm himself down, tell himself it was only a dream. But he had seen those pictures so often now that they were etched on his mind like the kanji that was edged on his forehead. Letting them go wasn't as easy as he would have wanted it to be.

He pushed the door to the kitchen open, and automatically searched for the light switch with the other hand. As the light went on, he instantly knew something was wrong.

His breathe became calm and steady, his memories of the nightmare vanished as his mind put itself on the alert. Someone was here, and he cursed himself a bit that he hadn't noticed it before. Of course. The door hadn't been closed, it had stood a bit ajar. He could hear someone's breathing. An intruder. His eyes narrowed, and he turned towards the direction from which he could sense the breathing, ready to any time attack whoever intruded the nightly peace of his palace. Even if he didn't have his gourd with sand with him. He wasn't the Kazekage for nothing.

But what he saw send a large wave of terror down his spine. _No._ It couldn't be. A man clad in black stood next to the fridge, his back still turned on the door where he stood. He knew that man. The trained figure, the unruly hair. It was all too familiar. Terror mixed with hate. It was time now, he wasn't a small whimpering child like in his dreams, time to stand up to the man who haunted his nightmares. The man spun around because of the sudden light, but Gaara didn't need him to. He knew what he would see. A hard, stony face with narrowed eyes staring down at him. There was it, that face, and the eyes of the man were filled with surprise and terror.

 _This time, father, you won't win_ , he thought. _Fear me._

Seconds and seconds went by, and he stared at his father, letting his eyes convey every single drop of hate he held for the man, every single memory of how he had been the one to turn him into Shukaku's container, how he had taken away his future and his family... Every one of the dark thoughts that came in the nights, the dark thoughts the night turned into disdain, hatred, and terror, without the reasoning of daytime. His breath was terribly calm, ready to react any second should his father attack him.

But something was wrong still.

His father didn't attack him, not even verbally. Instead, his eyes grew wider in shock, and his jaw dropped a bit. He indeed looked taken aback, in fear, and not stony and cruel. Then he seemed to rally himself, and Gaara, still content to wait until he would make the first move, anticipated an attack now. But no attack came. Instead, the man lifted his free hand as in a greeting gesture.

“Hey man”, he said, free of aggression, though the casual tone was slightly forced. “I’m back.”

The voice... the voice was wrong, too young, too casual, too warm... The face, he saw it now, was too young as well, younger than he had ever seen his father... And why did the man hold a plate of Nagiri in the other hand?

Gaara felt his eyes widen, and his hatred vanished in an instant. How could that just have happened? His father was dead, he knew it, he wouldn't just appear in the kitchen and eat Nagiri, what a ridiculous idea... He had let his memories of the nightmares get the better of him, and now he felt sorry for that... Sorry for the foolishness to mistake his brother for his father. It shouldn't have happened, not even after a nightmare, not even if they looked so alike...

“Kankurou”, he said weakly, “I…” He needed to apologise, but he didn't seem to find the right words to say how much he really felt sorry.

But Kankurou smiled now, if only a bit, and seemed to relax. He felt his own posture soften, and instead of hatred, anger and the will to attack, the only thing he could feel now was shock about what he had been willing to do.

“Little snack?”, Kankurou's voice broke his stasis, and he looked up to his brother, who held out the plate of Nagiri to him.

Gaara felt his head nod slowly, not really controlled by his mind, but rather by his subconsciousness. His brother seated himself on the worktop, and Gaara slowly crossed the kitchen towards him. He needed to apologise, he desperately needed to. Even if he didn't know how right now.

He had seen the fear in his brother's eyes. It had been that fear again, the fear he earlier on in his life had enjoyed and now despised to see in the eyes of someone he cared for. The fear of Shukaku, that had separated him and his siblings for nearly thirteen years. He had sworn to himself that he would do his very best to never make them have that fear again. And tonight he had failed terribly, though Shukaku was no longer a part of him.

But unlike some years ago, when Kankurou would have made several steps backwards to avoid him at all costs, he now made an inviting gesture towards Gaara. He didn't know exactly if it would be of any help to find an apology, but he followed that gesture and seated himself on the worktop as well.

It was an incredible odd feeling to sit together there in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, after all what had happened just now. He stared at the Nagiri, unwilling to look Kankurou in the face, while his brother seemed to try and be patient and took one Nagiri after the other with so obvious casualness as if to pretend he wasn’t agitated.

Gaara tried to get a hold on the situation, tried to understand what was going on. He couldn't just dwell in his thoughts, his shock of what had just happened. He had to say something. Because the invitation had been meant to give him room to speak, to say something, to talk about a nightmare, maybe. Or just to not be alone, to have someone to share your fears with. Usually, being in one another’s presence was enough reassurance for both of them. This time, however, Gaara felt that words were needed.

He had never been good with describing emotions, and always very careful about his words. Unlike his brother, who mostly said straight away what was on his mind, to the point where he appeared brutally frank to some people. And that Kankurou kept silent now, when Gaara knew there certainly was something on his mind, only showed more that he himself had to start this conversation.

But how to put it? Start with a clumsy apology? It would be enough, it wasn’t even needed. He knew that this wasn’t about the act of apologising itself. Kankurou was not a person to wait for apologies, for him there had been one ultimate apology years ago, and after that, Gaara had been ultimately forgiven. He never knew exactly why. He deemed that Kankurou himself didn’t know why he was so forgiving, but Gaara never wanted to take that for granted. So if there was a need for an apology, he would apologise.

But that didn’t mean that the words came easily to him. He didn’t want the apology to appear clumsy, or too plain, he felt like he had to explain, when he actually didn’t know how to put the explanation for what had happened into a sentence. All plain possibilities sounded so stupid in his mind. But if he waited any longer, it would appear indifferent. Or impolite. And that wasn’t the case.

“I did not know you were back already”, he finally said, cursing himself a little for beating around the bush. But maybe, if the conversation would just start, it would be easier. He held his voice calm, though knowing he couldn’t fool his brother. They were both bad liars, and both not easy to trick.

“Since half an hour or so, didn’t want to wake you and Temari up”, came the immediate reply.

Maybe they should really start out talking about something easy first. Work. “All went smoothly?” And it was funny how hunting down an escaped prisoner sounded like an easy topic to him.

“Nice’n easy. We found that bastard somewhere around the borders, two days ago. Brought him back to prison, and went straight back from there. Were nearly caught in that bloody storm.”

Only now Gaara realised that it was really storming outside. Winds were blowing around the houses, swirls of sand were pattering against the windows. Without intention his head turned towards the kitchen window. It was just a usual sandstorm, so much was clear. So usual he hadn’t even noticed it in the first place. But still… the howling sound and the dancing sand particles were somehow soothing, hypnotising… it still protected him, that sand, even if Shukaku was gone now… it was something else in him that controlled the sand now, he knew it, he had always known it deep inside his soul, that the sand wasn’t totally Shukaku’s work. Maybe that was why he loved sandstorms, why they calmed him down, when say agitated everyone else. Because somehow, they reminded him of protection, of something he could always rely on… It was strange to think that, he knew it, because there was no reasonable proof for it, but nonetheless… somehow the sand’s protection felt like the love of someone close to him, like the sand was a person on his own, a person that was not Shukaku… and the storms were the way of that person to say hello. And right now it reminded him that even if the sand would have gone with Shukaku, there would still be people around him who would protect him. Who would face dangers too great for them, who would risk everything they had for him. Naruto’s face appeared before his eyes, and their handshake. If it was just for meeting Naruto, living with Shukaku had been worth nearly sixteen years without sleep. This one, first defeat had given him so much he thought to not have. A family was just one of those things, but by far not the most unimportant. He had to thank Naruto for being able to apologise to his siblings, for understanding – and he had to thank Naruto for making a start to be a brother instead of a monster, and a friend instead of an enemy.

But it wasn’t Naruto who had to deal with all his insecurities. It wasn’t Naruto who had shown him what it was like to have a family. And it wasn’t Naruto who sat now at the worktop in the kitchen with him, had finally stopped eating Nagiri, leaving him his share; and it wasn’t Naruto who looked at the sandstorm with him. Gaara took a deep breath. The sandstorm reminded him of protection, that was right. But the sand was not his only protector.

“I am sorry”, he said finally, and found it strange how easily the words came after a long silence. They were plain, yes, but heartfelt. He owed his brother as much as to feel what he said, may it be simple and may it be short; he would find a way to explain. The most important thing was said.

“Forget it, eh?”, he heard Kankurou say. No, it wasn't that easy. Something had happened that should not, something that couldn't be shrugged off as if it was unimportant. He had let his dreams mix with reality, he had been weak, too weak to distinguish, and he had been ready for an attack. If looks could kill, he would have killed. And if he didn't explain, there was no way his soft-hearted brother should forgive him that easily. Maybe even think that there was nothing to forgive at all. “We all’ve nightmares.”

He abruptly pulled his eyes away from the storm, towards his brother. “How did you...?” He hadn't explained it yet, had he?

He saw Kankurou chuckle lightly at his confusion. “Wasn't difficult.”

Suddenly, Gaara felt a little ashamed. Of course, those dreams came often. To guess he had had a nightmare wasn't that difficult for someone who knew that, and additionally knew him inward-out. Still, having those nightmares was a weakness, and a weakness that was somehow obvious... even if it didn't matter to be weak in front of Kankurou, or Temari, he didn't want to be weak in front of anyone else. “I suppose so”, he said, silently. “Thinking about how I get those every night.” And would, most likely, have for a long, long time. A world without sleep certainly had its merits, he thought bitterly.

“Getting any better?” Kankurou seemed to take the opportunity that the topic had changed to the dreams again. He often asked, and Gaara was thankful for that, but … it still was a weakness. And he didn't want to be reminded of that weakness on a daily basis. He didn't want to speak about it, he didn't want to have it.

“Yes”, Gaara answered instantly, and he knew that he only said so to convince himself that it was indeed getting better. Kankurou and Temari always said those dreams would cease after a while. They, of course, couldn't say how long that while was. But they, of course, were the two persons who would never believe their obviously agitated brother that his dreams were getting better. It were those unspoken, yet understood things, and unnecessary questions. Gaara was quite clear that his brother knew the answer to his question on his own, and knew that is was not what Gaara had just said. For Kankurou and Temari, he was see-through. And yet, this was about words, not about the gut-feeling his brother was so proud of. It was, for once, speaking, not just knowing. It was about admitting weakness. “And no”, he said in a whisper. “Not… tonight… at least.”

Suddenly, he felt a bit naked in an emotional sense. He knew that feeling, he had had it sometimes. When something within him was laid bare to see, even if it was to see for those two people who would never laugh at any of his weaknesses, instead would help him up when he fell down. And still, it felt a bit unpleasant to be emotionally naked, unprotected by his own defences, even if he had let them down himself. It was a state in which he really needed a protector, in which he, without saying so, asked someone else for help. But nobody could protect him from his dreams, dreams couldn't be fought by traditional means.

“Of our old man”, he heard Kankurou say, in a voice that was so much like their father's. It was younger, yes. But still it had the same tone, and that tone send an involuntary shiver down Gaara's spine. Another after effect of the nightmare, he thought.

Then he nodded, acknowledging his brother's gut-feeling once again. “He appears often in those… those dreams”, he muttered.

He could feel that Kankurou's posture stiffened, that he tensed and that his eyes narrowed. He clenched his fist and grabbed the plate in his other hand more firmly, Gaara deemed he didn't even recognise it. The intensity of emotions his brother could feel was sometimes hard to understand for Gaara, who liked to keep control of his feelings. Gaara despised their father, yes. But he didn’t hate him. He wasn’t even sure if he hated any person. Hate was a very strong emotion, he knew that all too well, and hate was a strong driving force, just as strong as love, maybe even stronger if taken too far. Hate could cloud your mind, and while love could as well, feeling love also gave strength, but not in a destructive way.

Kankurou was different. Gaara had experienced first hand that his brother beyond all his brash attitude had a caring and forgiving heart, and immense dedication to those he loved. It wasn’t easy to lose that dedication once you had gained it. But when someone did; when someone betrayed Kankurou’s trust and love, they would turn into the hatred and contempt - just as intense, just as fiery and just as dedicated as the trust and kindness had been honest. And the only person Gaara knew of who had ever managed to earn his brother’s fullest hatred was their father. It was somehow ironic, that genetics had decided to give him a nearly perfect carbon copy of the appearance of exactly that man.

When Kankurou seemed to realise how much he showed his anger, he seemed to forcefully calm himself down. And when he said: “I don’t think the old geezer keeps his mouth shut in those nightmares”, he sounded only a bit annoyed.

“No”, Gaara answered, and felt that his brother's hate had inflamed the anger inside himself slightly. But hate and anger didn't cover the real problem he had with his late father. The topic bore a different, much more severe problem for him than plain hatred. It wasn’t about disdain to begin with. He wasn't sure if he could vocalise it to Kankurou; it would lay bare the greatest weakness of all.

“Wanna talk about it?” Though he heard concern again in his brother's voice, it was still sharp and a bit tense. But still, did he really want to share, could he really share that weakness? The words his father screamed every time, the words etched onto his mind? _Failure. Murderer. Shame._ He wanted to, somehow; admit his weakness like a little child, and not like a Kazekage should. He wanted Kankurou to know, wanted his brother to be his protector once more, but he wasn't sure how to say it, once again lost for words. There could be no words for what happened in those dreams. “I could guess, you know. And you’d only have to nod or shake your head.”

Gaara wanted to laugh, if that all wasn't too serious to laugh. What a childish idea, they were both nearly adults. But he could just nod again now, he thought. He wouldn’t have to say it, wouldn’t have to find the right words. He would not even have to make the decision if he wanted Kankurou to know, he could just rely on his brother’s instincts and wait until he found out himself… But maybe, it was better when he didn't know. Some things weren't meant to be shared, not even with a big brother. After all, Kankurou could certainly do a lot of things, but he couldn't defeat the dreams. It was something he could only protect himself from.

Suddenly, Kankurou sighed, as if in defeat. “You know, you’re not the only one with those dreams”, he said. Inwardly, Gaara felt a bit taken aback. Of course, he wasn’t the only one, had he really thought so? Had he really expected that his siblings had no dreams about their father? They had said that dreams came from memories and experiences the mind couldn’t handle. And of course, they all had those memories. It was just logical that his siblings had nightmares as well.

“No. I suppose you see him, too. And Temari?”

“’Course we do, man. We both. I guess… its normal with a father like that.” He felt a bit better suddenly, less alone with his fears. It was a good opportunity, he felt. They may have been sixteen and eighteen, but still, they were only children, and more or less, each in their own way, had all suffered from their father. Maybe this wasn’t so much about defeating the dreams. Maybe, this was only about understanding.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a split second. His wish to talk about it was getting stronger, even stronger now that he knew that they all shared those dreams. And maybe, just by chance... “Does he… scream at you?”, he asked with a heavy voice, his eyes fixated on his brother, who nodded slowly. “And tell you… that you are…” His voice broke. He couldn't say it. After all convincing himself that talking was a good thing for once, his voice left him.

“A failure.” Oh yes, it was the voice of their father, and together with the solemn expression in Kankurou’s face it once again conjured up the image of their father in front of Gaara’s eyes, and another, stronger shiver ran down his spine. But it was good pain, like a bitter pill, that would somehow bring cure. “He yells it at me every time.”

The image of their father was gone. And Gaara did just understand fully how his brother must feel. “Do you believe him?” It was a personal, very private question, he knew that. But still, something within him wanted to know.

A small sigh escaped his brother's lips, and Gaara saw a wry smile form. Somehow, he knew Kankurou's answer. Somehow, he understood. “Not… really. Though it’s hard, you know. Sometimes I do believe him.”

They said that you had powers you didn't know of when you wanted to protect someone who was weak. In his brother's voice had been fear. The same fear he had himself. The fear that their father was right. And just knowing that they shared that fear, it seemed to shrink inside Gaara's soul. He truly wasn't alone. Even his greatest fear was a fear they shared. With all their obvious differences, it were situations like these in which Gaara knew that they weren't different at all. They had both suffered, they all three had. And now, they were only children, not the Kazekage and one of his most trusted advisers, just two boys in need of one another. And certainly, they were both no failures. He could see it now, with his fear still shrinking. “Well… nightmares are not made to tell the truth, I suppose.”

Kankurou chuckled. “Don’t worry, otouto”, he said, and Gaara sensed a hand on his shoulder. Warmth spread through his body, and he felt that he relaxed now. “I’ll get along. And I’d bet with anyone you’ll do it, too. No matter what he calls you, you’re no failure.”

 _No failure_. He didn’t know why hearing this relieved him this much, why it meant so much to him that someone vocalised it. The soothing warmth spread further throughout his body, and suddenly he felt much calmer. “Thank you”, he said, and he felt a smile forming on his face. Yes, in moments like these he was sure what it meant to have a big brother.

But then again, this night wasn’t about soothing him. He had not agreed to this because he had wanted to talk to Kankurou about his dreams, he had wanted to apologise for his mistake, or whatever he might call it, earlier on. And while they had covered at least a bit of what Gaara wanted to explain, he wasn’t done yet. There was more to it, and he had to make sure to reply to his brother’s kindness with honesty. He took a deep breath with closed eyes, collected himself again, and then looked straight towards his brother, his expression now serious again. “I… apologise again for earlier tonight. It should not have happened. And do not say I should forget it.”

He took a breath to think of his next words, but Kankurou was faster. “Then I don’t say it. But…Really… don’t bother. I… know very well how I look. And that people are weak after a nightmare.”

Inwardly, Gaara sighed. Of course, the gut-feeling. Kankurou had known all along, from the very moment when they had glared at one another. That was why he had calmed down back then. That was why he had invited Gaara to this nightly talk. Still, it didn’t feel to him as if it was enough said. He knew Kankurou could shrug off nearly everything as long as it didn’t involve someone insulting or harming his family, his village or his own pride. But this time, he shouldn’t. “But I should have learned by now that he is dead”, Gaara gave back plainly. “I should not see him anymore when … it is you I look at.”

As soon as he had said it, Gaara felt that it may have been a bad idea. Kankurou suddenly looked tense again, eyes closed and breathing in deeply, as if to calm himself. He didn’t appear angry, instead, he seemed to be hurt. Gaara rued his words now, he hadn’t intended to hurt Kankurou.  
But after only a couple of seconds, his brother opened his eyes again. “Maybe it can’t be helped, eh? Not your fault, otouto. It’s just Lady Luck’s twisted sense of humour, and a freak of genetics”, he said, the casual tone clearly forced, and the wry smile he had tried was betrayed by the melancholic expression of his eyes. After all, he was a bad liar about his own feelings. And Gaara was somehow thankful for that.

But again, Kankurou had already forgiven him without wanting an excuse. _Not your fault_ , it echoed in Gaara’s mind. He wasn’t sure about that. When he wasn’t in control of his feelings, of his consciousness, then it was _his fault_ , right? And if he read his brother’s sudden sadness correctly, Kankurou seemed more or less to put the blame on the situation from earlier on himself. And Gaara was certain he wouldn’t allow that. “Maybe. But you are not responsible for that. It is not my fault, maybe, if my subconsciousness tricks me. But neither is it yours.”

“Really?”, came the immediate reply. Gaara had learned so much about sarcasm that he knew his brother was more or less asking an unnecessary question again. “I could at least… spare you the sight.”

And then, Gaara understood something. Something he had never deemed important, certainly curious, but not so important as to ask about it. It was something that he only now realised, because actually, it was nothing special.

At home, when he wasn’t the Kazekage, when Kankurou was no puppeteer for a while, he had never worn his paint during the last years. When Gaara thought back to the times when their father had been alive, he couldn’t even remember how his brother’s face had looked like without the paint. He had asked Kankurou once why he wore it. His brother had smirked wryly, and said it was because their father hated it. And maybe, he had meant to say that he wore it because he hated to look like their father. Gaara remembered situations when he had found his brother in the bathroom, staring at the mirror with a pained expression. It had been years ago, and hadn’t happened in a long time, maybe because his brother now had a mirror in his own room. And suddenly, Gaara thought about the shiver his brother’s voice had sent down his spine, when he had said the words of their father, in a voice that was so much like their father’s. _A bitter pill_ , he had thought. And now he knew that it had happened again, that he understood his brother without a word. Staring into the mirror, removing the mask – it was Kankurou’s personal bitter pill. The cure of facing instead of hiding, not only for himself. But also for Gaara and Temari. And now, he had taken away his brother’s security that the bitter pill was the right thing. He had to give it back. And this time, the words weren’t hard to find. They came easily. “Yashamaru once said to me there are wounds that cannot be healed, not even by time. And father has left such wounds in all of us. Maybe they cannot be healed, maybe we will never get over all what has happened. But those wounds… I do not think they are meant to be sedated. We are not meant to forget about our past, and distort what is left of it. We are meant to accept it. And I appreciate that you try to do so.”

“Even if I look like him?”

“Not even, but because you look like him.”

Something like understanding filled the room, only that it felt stronger to Gaara. Sometimes, words were needed to speak about things long ignored. Even the strongest fighter sometimes needed reassurance, Gaara thought. And somehow, it was something he treasured beyond anything. Receiving a word of understanding, receiving solace, and a friendly ear; but also giving it. It felt good to help someone he cared for, it truly did.

“Honestly Gaara… does it happen often? That you see him… I mean, when you look at me?”, he heard Kankurou say. His voice was steady again, and sadness had left it. It appeared curious, if anything.

“Honestly? No. Only if the nightmare was too strong and I had not expected you to be home, sneaking through the house like a ghost and stealing the remainders of dinner”, Gaara replied, allowing himself to signalise that everything was alright for him by using a bit of sarcasm himself. The reply came immediately, in form of his brother’s loud, hearty laugh. The sound of it alone made Gaara chuckle a slight bit.

“Sneaking? And stealing? Thank you, man. Not that I don’t live here as well.” And while he spoke, Kankurou’s eyes wandered hungrily to the plate of Nagiri. ”Really Gaara… You haven’t taken a single one. Make your claim or they’ll be gone for good.”

“I am not hungry, so help yourself. Additionally it is now… five thirty in the morning. There will be breakfast in an hour.”

When he had said that, the Nagiri had already vanished all save one, and on that his brother choked. “Five thirty?! No way!”, he cried out, unbelieving.

Gaara inwardly sighed and smirked at the same time. “I am not joking.”

“Oh man. Bye bye sleeping.”

The idea of sleeping send another shiver down Gaara’s spine, and made him tense again. He would have to sleep again in the night. And he was sure that there would be a nightmare again. “Sleep is by far overrated, if you ask me.”

“Only because you never had the pleasure of a deep, dreamless sleep. You will have someday. Think of it as a present, and you don’t know when you get it. And when you had that, a good, dreamless sleep, or even a nice dream, you’ll love occasional sleeping.” And just for the sake of their talk, Gaara was willing to believe his brother’s words. A nice dream, it sounded alien and strange, but certainly attractive.

But sleep… even if he could live with only so much of it, and gladly gave up extra hours of sleep for work, it didn’t mean that other, more normal persons didn’t need any. “Speaking about sleep and taking the time into consideration, you should maybe take a short nap before breakfast. You still have one hour”, he said, hopping from the worktop to signalise the end of their night talk. It was hardly night anymore.

Kankurou only chuckled and followed him outside the room. “Who needs sleep when there are things like cold showers. I’ll just take the time and clean and check Kuroari. What about you?”, he said then, and Gaara thought that it wasn’t educationally intelligent for someone who tried to teach him that sleep was necessary to say he would replace his own sleep by a cold shower, and most likely a second cup of black coffee at breakfast.

But he said nothing to that topic again. They would have their usual “go to sleep” discussion in the evening, for sure. Either he and Kankurou, or he and Temari, or, in the worst case, he against both his older siblings. It was clearly time to change the topic back to work, and back to daytime activities in general. “Paperwork.”

“Oh yeah, sounds like fun.”

“Somebody has to do it. By the way, I will need your mission report in the afternoon.” A suppressed grunt came as a reply, and Gaara smirked, now visibly.

“Nah… don’t remind me of that.”

In front of Gaara’s door, they stopped. “Until breakfast, then”, he said.

“Right. Don’t skip it, eh?”, Kankurou gave back, in a slightly lecturing tone.

“I promise.”

“’Kay then”, Kankurou lifted his hand again and Gaara was about to go. “One thing, Gaara. Thanks for the encouragement.”

It really felt good to be needed and appreciated, Gaara thought, and another wave of warmth spread throughout his body. And he wanted to share that warmth. “That is what family is for, onii-san.”

And while Kankurou didn’t reply, Gaara saw him smile from the corner of his eyes and smiled as well. It was another thing he treasured about his new closeness to his brother, and to his sister as well. They inspired him to be what he wanted to be with their unwavering confidence in him, with their advice and their words of comfort. But he also felt that he inspired them to be what they wanted to be. Giving and receiving, sharing the good as well as the bad – that was what bonds were about.

…

When he had changed into his clothes for the day and was on the way to his office, he passed the gallery of photographs of his predecessors. At the picture of the Yondaime Kazekage he stopped. The face behind the frame was nearly expressionless; serious, if anything; distant and stern. And then it occurred to him that the man who was their father didn’t look like Kankurou at all. It wasn’t about the features of a face that made resemblance. It was about the character. And given that, his brother and father couldn’t be more different.  
He smirked as he moved on to his office. Maybe, in his next dream, the memories of this night’s talk would step in to tell his father that he didn’t believe him. Not anymore. The bitter pill was working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the manga could have done with more brotherly Kankurou/Gaara stuff. And this story, especially this chapter, is my personal tribute to my favourite manga siblings. It sadly misses Temari, but I see that I get this fixed up with another story. Her point of view on this incident would have been rather short, after all, she was sleeping the entire time.


End file.
